Think of the Consequences
by aluhsin
Summary: Following the events of season 1. Betsy Beatty thought her life would return to normal after Wilson Fisk was put behind bars, but she could not have been more wrong. Now Melvin is missing and there are dangerous people looking for him, people including a certain horned vigilante.
1. The Confrontation

Betsy was surprised, while walking down the hallway to her second-floor apartment, to find a brown package on the mat in front of her door. It was a pleasant surprise at first, but was quickly met with suspicion after noticing that the package had no address label. Entering her apartment, she kicked off her stiff shoes and set down her purse and a bag of Thai take-out that she'd convinced herself was healthy before turning around and staring at the simple brown box on her mat. It looked innocent enough, so she picked it up with both hands and shut the door with her hip.

She sat down at her small table with the package and gave it a slight shake. No ticking from the box, which was a good sign. Even though Wilson Fisk was securely behind bars, it was hard to shake the anxiety she was so used to feeling. The box was tied with a simple twine bow, which she undid before sliding the top off. On top of folded tissue paper was a handwritten note. Betsy picked the note up with care and read it a few times:

 _Betsy,_

 _Sorry I am gone. I will be back but there are still some people looking for me. It's not safe for me yet but you will be ok. I have someone keeping out an eye for you. I wanted to give you this dress for your birthday but I couldn't wait anymore. I hope you like it I know purple is your favorite color._

 _-M_

Betsy set the note aside and unfolded the tissue paper with tears blurring her vision. The dress was a silky, deep purple with lacy sleeves. She stood up and lifted it out the box, looking over every square inch. It was gorgeous, of course. Melvin was an incredibly gifted designer. She hadn't spoken to Melvin since before Fisk was put away, but their last session had ended on a good note. Melvin had assured her that Fisk wasn't going to be a problem anymore, that he was helping someone beat Fisk. At the time, she thought maybe he'd agreed to testify in court. It wasn't until after she'd seen the famous sketch of Daredevil in the _New York Bulletin_ that she realized Melvin had provided the Devil of Hell's Kitchen with a new costume. A costume that was more than likely made of the same material that lined Fisk's suits.

Thinking about Melvin put a heavy weight on her chest, a feeling that she was growing quite accustomed to. She gripped the chair in front of her and buried her face in the dress, letting a couple of tears slip. After a few moments, she put the dress back in the box and secured the lid. As much as she wanted to allow herself time to curl up in bed and cry, she had work to do. There were new client files that needed reviewing and she still had to eat dinner, clean the apartment, and feed the cat. She ran a hand through her curls and glanced around her small kitchen, as if noticing it for the first time. Dishes piled in the sink, garbage overflowing with take-out boxes, papers and bills scattered around the table. She made a mental checklist and decided that the cat took precedence.

She called for the ginger cat before filling the bowl. He didn't come immediately, which was unusual. Oliver was a senior cat, a "gift" from Betsy's friend Jess. Jess had moved to Chicago for a new job four months prior and wasn't sure if the old cat would make the trip. Betsy shrugged off Oliver's lack of interest in the food, telling herself that maybe his hearing was failing. He was old, anyway.

In hindsight, the fact that Oliver didn't come barreling down the hallway upon hearing his bowl being filled should have been a red flag. The cat was predictable; he at least had that going for him. Betsy's mind was so preoccupied with thoughts of Melvin, Fisk, and Daredevil that she didn't even notice the stranger sitting on her couch until she was by her bedroom door. She heard him before she saw him; he was flipping through her new copy of _TV Guide_ that was on the coffee table.

"You really took your time getting out here. No offense, but your magazines suck." He dropped the magazine back on the coffee table.

Betsy felt a scream building in her throat and stumbled backward, slamming into the doorframe of her bedroom. "How—"

The figure rose easily from the couch, but Betsy didn't wait to see what his next move was. She threw herself into her room and slammed the door. She cursed whoever decided against putting a lock on the door and shoved a nightstand under the knob. She knew that that wasn't going to be enough, but it would have to do. Luckily, her room was connected to a bathroom, and the bathroom had a lock.

Crouching on the floor of her tiny bathroom, Betsy had some time to think. Her cell phone was in her purse, which was in the kitchen. Shit. There was a window above her bathtub, so Betsy clambered into the tub with shaking legs and flung the small window open. The man was in her bedroom now, having easily kicked the door down. Betsy screamed for help into the black night, hoping that police, or perhaps even a certain horned vigilante, would hear her.

"Come on, I just have a few questions." The man knocked on the door a few times, causing Betsy to scream louder.

If the locked door did anything to slow the man down, Betsy couldn't tell. Before she even had time to process what was happening, he kicked in the bathroom door and was approaching her at a rapid rate. She tried to recall what she'd learned in her self-defense class as a teenager, and aimed a kick at his knee. It was an awkward kick, being in the tub and all, but Betsy did a fairly decent job. Or so she thought, the man barely flinched. Instead, he heaved a sigh and hit her hard across the face with an open palm, causing her to lose her balance and crumple on the floor of the bathtub.

"Why couldn't we just make this quick and easy?" He grabbed a fistful of hair and pulled her out of the tub and into the bedroom.

Betsy held on to the fist in her hair with both hands, struggling to stay on her feet. He finally let go near the foot of the bed, pushing her shoulders against the footboard and crouching in front of her.

"Where is Melvin Potter?" His face was too close to hers. He had a crooked nose, days-old bruises, and a scabbed cut on his lip.

"I—why?" Betsy pressed her back against the footboard as much as she could, anything to put some distance between them.

"Wrong answer." The man gripped Betsy's narrow shoulders and hoisted her up to her feet before knocking her against the wall by the dresser. He held her there at arms length. "You seem like a nice girl, but I've had a pretty shitty night. Just tell me where he is and you'll never see me again."

Betsy's eyes frantically scanned the dresser to her right, searching for anything that could be used as a weapon. She settled on the pewter handheld mirror that she'd bought at an antique store with her mother. Not allowing herself much time to think, she drove her knee into her attacker's groin while simultaneously wrapping her palm around the sturdy handle of the mirror. The man was able to block most of Betsy's knee, but the distraction enabled her to pull the mirror off the dresser and strike the man's head with the hard edge.

The hit made him stumble and release Betsy's shoulders, allowing her to rush out of the room. She made it about halfway down the hallway before he caught up and wrapped his thick arm around her throat from behind, yanking her into his chest.

"I'm really tired of chasing you around this shitty apartment," he hissed into her ear, squeezing her neck with his forearm. "Where is Melvin?"

"I don't know—I swear to God—" Betsy gasped, the tears spilling freely now.

She clawed at his arm and kicked her heels into his shins, but he remained unmoving. She tried reaching her hand up to gouge his eyes, but she couldn't find his head and ended up grabbing at the air. This went on for what felt like an eternity, until Betsy heard a loud thud coming from somewhere in her living room. She wondered wildly if Oliver had come out of his hiding spot to save her life.

"She's telling the truth, Frank," she heard a new voice yell.

Betsy was sure she heard the man behind her say something in reply, or at least she felt his baritone voice vibrate through his chest. She tried to focus on the words, but she didn't care anymore. Black dots were swimming in her vision, and her legs were suddenly unable to hold her weight.

Betsy woke up moments later to a full-blown fight in her living room. Daredevil versus the man she now knew was named Frank. She couldn't tell who was winning, but she was irritated that they were breaking her things. She sat up slowly, rubbing her neck. Shit, that was going to hurt later.

Daredevil seemed to have the upper hand. He was faster, and he navigated the small space with ease. Frank was holding his own, of course, and had a gun drawn. Before he had a chance to shoot, though, Daredevil kicked it out of his hand. The gun slid to a stop near Betsy's bedroom door. It was a little closer to the fight than Betsy would have liked, but she was worried that one of them was going to break her TV. That thing took weeks of saving, and she was not going to let a costumed vigilante or a black-clad psychopath break it.

She crawled to the gun; careful to avoid the shattered glass from a vase her mother had given her as a housewarming present. The gun turned out to be a simple semi-automatic pistol. She made a mental note to thank her uncle for taking her to a shooting range as a teenager. She checked the magazine; it was full.

Betsy stood up slowly on shaky legs with the pistol in her hands. Her neck was sore, her head was throbbing, and her fingertips even hurt from scratching.

"Stop," Betsy said, her voice coming out in a mangled whisper.

She cleared her throat and tried again.

"Stop, or I'll fucking shoot the both of you." She put as much authority into her voice as she could manage, and it must have worked because they both stopped and looked in her direction.

"Princess, put the pistol down before you shoot your foot." Frank had his hands up and was walking towards her.

If there was one thing that Betsy hated, it was being called a princess by condescending assholes. She aimed the gun at the floor in front of Frank and fired. She winced at both the loud noise and the new hole in her hardwood floor, but at least Frank had backed off a good five feet.

Daredevil, on the other hand, was crouched by the bookcase in the corner, one hand over an ear and the other hand on the wall. Frank made a move toward him.

"Stop!" Betsy raised her gun again. She knew she didn't have the guts to actually shoot him, and she could feel that she was losing her hold on the situation.

Frank looked from the gun, to Betsy, to Daredevil, and backed towards the open window.

"I'll be seeing you later," he said before escaping down the fire escape.

Betsy let the gun drop at her side and looked to the man in the corner, who was now leaning against the bookshelf.

"He was talking to you, right?"


	2. The Compromise

If Daredevil heard her question, he certainly made no move to answer it. Betsy remained rooted on the spot, legs apart and gun half raised.

"You can drop the gun now," Daredevil said as he pushed himself away from the wall.

Betsy shifted her feet and set the gun down on the floor, nudging it toward him with her foot.

The vigilante looked at the gun. "You need to keep that."

Betsy shook her head. "Why? Is he coming back? Who the hell was that?" She put her hand to her chest and slowed her breathing, a feeble attempt to calm her pulse down.

"I doubt it, considering he now knows that you're under my protection. He wouldn't chance it again. His name is Frank Castle." Daredevil began walking to the window, glass crunching under his feet.

Betsy rushed toward him with her hands raised. "Excuse me? Protection? Hold on, what did Melvin do?"

Daredevil stopped in the middle of the room and lowered his head. "I don't believe Melvin did anything. Frank, however, believes he was responsible for a bomb that went off on a commuter train. Two people died, eight were injured." He tilted his head toward Betsy before continuing. "He was seen on a security camera running from the scene."

Betsy stood with her mouth open, staring at the vigilante. "That's not—Melvin would never—"

"I know," Daredevil interrupted. "I knew Frank would question you first, it's what I'd do. As a matter of fact, that's why I was in the neighborhood. I'm just sorry it took me so long to get here." He frowned and reached toward Betsy, but seemed to think better of it and put his hand down. "Frank won't come back to your apartment now, but…please keep the gun with you. You obviously know how to use it." He said with a slight smirk.

Betsy began picking at her nails, a bad habit she picked up in college. She decided to ignore the fact that Daredevil had wanted to question her as well but was beaten to the punch by Frank. "Thank you. I know Melvin trusted you, and I can see why."

Daredevil nodded. "The cops will probably come to ask some questions about Melvin. It's probably…best to leave this out." He gestured toward the disaster that was her living room. "Sorry about…all of that."

Betsy barely glanced at the living room, not wanting to get angry again. "It's fine. I mean, it's not, but it's not your fault. At least the TV is ok."

The vigilante smiled then, and Betsy felt her heart flutter. She imagined he was quite handsome under that mask. Then she felt angry that her brain always seemed to go in that direction. She supposed it was a coping mechanism.

Daredevil fished around in a pocket and pulled out what was clearly a burner phone. "Call your cell from here so you'll have the number. I don't expect you to, but I would greatly appreciate it if you'd contact me if you hear from Melvin. Just no texts."

Betsy did as she was asked and handed the phone back. "Do all the vigilantes have burner phones?" She rolled her eyes at the question. Was she really trying to crack jokes with the Devil of Hell's Kitchen?

Daredevil smiled again. "Only the smart ones." He finished crossing the room and put a hand on the windowsill. "Don't be afraid to call me if you need me. We are on the same side in this."

Betsy managed a nod in his direction. The strangeness of the night was catching up to her. She suddenly felt very tired and wanted nothing more than to put her head on a pillow.

Daredevil scanned the room one last time and jumped out of the window without a sound. Betsy forced her legs to move and walked to the window, shutting and locking it. She peered into the night for any sign of the vigilante but found none.

Betsy avoided looking around the living room too much and walked straight to her bedroom, shedding her clothes along the way. She downed a couple of Benadryl and climbed into bed, making a significant effort to not think about anything. She felt a warm mound lay next to her and reached out her hand to pet the elusive cat, Oliver. "Thanks for nothing," she mumbled into her pillow before finally falling asleep.

Beeping. Loud beeping. Oh god, was it time to wake up already? Betsy threw her hand out and slapped the alarm clock on her nightstand. She cracked open her eyes and was greeted with the bright morning sun filtering in through her window.

After finally getting out of bed, throwing a decent outfit on, and applying some mascara and lip gloss, Betsy timidly stepped into her living room. It wasn't as bad as she'd worried it'd be. A broken vase, an overturned coffee table, shattered picture frames, some dirt sprinkled on the floor from a plant that was knocked over. And of course, the large bullet hole in her floor. She chastised herself for that stupid move. She wasn't all that surprised that the neighbors didn't call the cops, given her neighborhood. She was a bit disconcerted, however, that they didn't.

She swept up the glass and dirt, picked up and straightened her coffee table and magazines, and threw away the broken picture frames. She made a mental note to buy more after work. She stood over the bullet hole, wondering what she could do to fix it. After a few minutes, she resolved to throw a rug over the hole and worry about it later.

Breakfast was a bland granola bar and cup of coffee. She knew she'd need a lot of liquid courage to get through the day. She filled Oliver's food bowl before grabbing her purse and briefcase bag, and was about to vacate the apartment before remembering what Daredevil had said about the gun. She grabbed it from the cookie jar, where she'd stuffed it during her frenzied cleaning, and jammed it into her purse before she had much time to mull over her decision.

It wasn't until 1:00 p.m. when Betsy decided to head down to the cafeteria of Metro-General for lunch. She'd been working nonstop since she arrived and avoided her coworkers at all costs, only leaving her office to go talk to patients. She got along pretty well with her coworkers, but was certainly not in the mood for their jokes. Clinical social workers had an odd sense of humor, due in part to their depressing jobs.

Betsy had about five minutes of peace during her lunch break before one of her coworkers plopped in the chair across from her. It was Suzanne, a heavy-set woman with salt and pepper hair styled in a bun on top of her head.

"Betsy, are you feeling OK?" Suzanne asked, pouring ranch over her salad.

Betsy forced a smile. "Yeah, I'm fine. Just a bit of a migraine." She rubbed her head for added effect.

Suzanne stared at her and shook her head between bites. "Bullshit. What happened? Men trouble?"

Betsy had to admire her tenacity. She felt a smile tug at her lips. "You could say that."

Suzanne nodded. "I knew it. Pretty girl like you. So, you gonna elaborate or what?"

Betsy stared into her salad bowl, contemplating what to say. Suzanne could see through most lies, so she decided to go with the partial truth. "We had a fight. A pretty bad one. Things were…thrown. I don't think he'll be coming back around." She nodded absentmindedly, willing herself to believe that Frank Castle was done with her and Melvin.

Suzanne looked at her, the worry clear in her eyes. "Wait, is that the bald chump who used to bring you lunch sometimes?"

Betsy gasped, but couldn't keep the smile off her face. "Suzanne! That was a patient! No, his name was Melvin. We haven't…talked in a while." Betsy stared into her salad again and poked at it with a fork.

Suzanne put her hand on Betsy's. "Honey, if you ever want to talk, you have my number. Seriously, you're like the daughter I never had. Promise me you won't associate with that bastard again." She asked softly.

"Oh believe me, I promise. We are done." Betsy squeezed Suzanne's hand, feeling a little guilty for going to such great lengths to ignore her coworkers earlier.

Suzanne's cell phone suddenly chirped on the table and she glanced at it. "Shit. I have to go. But we can talk later, if you'd like." She smiled and stood up.

Betsy nodded and watched her leave. She pushed her salad away and took her phone out, sending a quick text to the phone number Melvin had given her months earlier.

 _Thank you for the dress. It's beautiful! Let's talk soon._

She had sent dozens of texts, all of them unanswered. Nonetheless, it made her feel better. She liked to believe that Melvin read the texts but didn't know how to reply. That brought a smile to her face.

"What are you smiling about?" Frank Castle walked up from behind and settled in the chair that Suzanne had just vacated. He was wearing a baseball cap and blue jeans, and looked incredibly normal. He had even more bruises on his face than he did the night before. He eyed Betsy's cell phone in her hands and plucked it out of her limp fingers, scrolling through her texts. "A phone number, eh?" Frank took a pad of paper out of his pocket. "Do you have a pen?"

"Don't," Betsy managed to croak, reaching feebly for the phone.

Frank made a show of padding his pockets before turning to a doctor at the next table. "Excuse me, do you have a pen?" He flashed a smile at the doctor and Betsy observed how straight and white his teeth were. She wondered what had happened to him in his life to make him so distrustful of the world.

"I'm going to call the cops," Betsy said in a low voice while looking around the room, hoping to catch someone's eye.

The doctor barely glanced up before handing Frank a pen, deep in conversation with his colleague. Betsy watched helplessly as Frank scrawled Melvin's number on his pad of paper. "Thank you," he said to the doctor as he tucked the pad of paper back into his pocket and handed the pen back.

"You even think about calling for help, I will not hesitate to shoot my way out of here." He padded what was clearly a gun under his jacket. "This is just a social call." He pushed Betsy's phone back across the table.

"Please, Melvin didn't do what you think he did," Betsy whispered, pushing her panic down and pressing her palms on the table.

"Then why is he running? With a record like his, it really wouldn't be all that surprising." Frank folded his hands on the table.

Betsy shook her head. "And I'm sure you're just the model citizen?"

Frank let out a quick laugh. "You got me there. Look, you have something of mine. Give it back and I'll be out of your hair."

Betsy bit her lip. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"My gun. I know it's in that suitcase of yours, it's a special one." Frank nodded to Betsy's purse, which was on the chair next to her.

Betsy placed a hand on her purse. "I'm just supposed to pull a gun out of my purse in broad daylight in a _hospital?_ " Her voice sounded shrill even to her own ears.

Frank rolled his eyes. "Hand it under the table. Slowly,"

Betsy set her purse on the floor and took the gun out, passing it to him under the table. As soon as Frank grabbed it, he put it under his jacket in one swift motion. Betsy was surprised at how easy the maneuver was. No one had glanced at their table twice since Frank sat down.

Frank stood up quickly and looked down to Betsy. "Tell our mutual friend I said hello." He smiled and nodded before leaving the way he came.

Betsy stared at the table for what felt like an hour before coming to her senses. She felt sweaty all over and wiped her palms on her skirt. She stood up abruptly and grabbed her belongings before making her way outside.

Once outside, she stared at Daredevil's phone number on her screen, trying to decide if she should call him during the daytime. She was sure he had a normal life. Or maybe he just lived in a cave and slept during the day. She called the number before she chickened out.

She paced around the sidewalk while the line rang, wishing she had a cigarette to calm her nerves. The beating sun and dozens of pedestrians did nothing for her stress levels.

"Hello?" A man answered with a strong, clear voice. Much different than the hushed tone that she was used to hearing the night before.

"Um…hi. This is…Betsy?" Betsy cursed her awkwardness and sat down on a bench, not sure that she trusted her legs anymore.

"Yes. How can I help you?" The man's breathing was slightly labored, like he was walking.

"Well, you said to contact you if I needed you. So this is me contacting you."


	3. The Question

"Well, you said to contact you if I needed you. So this is me contacting you."

"Just a moment please."

Betsy heard him stomp up a staircase and shut a door.

"Betsy, what's wrong? Did you talk to Melvin?"

Betsy pushed a cigarette butt around on the sidewalk with her toe. "No, but Frank paid me another visit. At work."

The line was quiet for a few seconds. "What happened?"

Betsy blew out a breath before starting. "I was eating lunch, minding my own damn business. I sent Melvin a text. Frank shows up, steals my phone and copies down Melvin's number. Takes his gun back and leaves. Oh, and he told me to tell you "hello.""

The line was quiet again. Betsy strained her ears, listening to the background noise in an attempt to figure out what his day job was. She'd be lying if she said she wasn't curious.

"Melvin has a phone number?"

Betsy pinched the bridge of her nose. "Seriously? That's what you got out of that?"

"Sorry. I just wish you'd told me that. Where do you work?"

Betsy sat up a little straighter. "Why is that important?"  
"Was it a place with witnesses?"

Betsy thought she heard the squeak of an office chair. "Yes...oh, what the fuck. I work at Metro-General. So yes, there were a lot of witnesses. All it looked like to them was a couple of friends having a disagreement."

Betsy could hear the vigilante exhale. "Are you a nurse?"

"No, I'm a clinical social worker. It's how I got to know Melvin. Can Frank track Melvin with his phone number?"

"I'm not sure—" he stopped abruptly, cut off by another voice in the background.

" _Hey buddy, I found—"_

Betsy heard the vigilante clear his throat loudly, followed by a few moments of silence.

"I'm not sure if Frank has the resources to do that. He was probably just trying to scare you."

"Well…it worked," Betsy said in a quiet voice, listening closely for any other obtrusions. Daredevil didn't acknowledge the new voice, and she thought it wise not to bring it up.

"I'll try to find Frank tonight and have a talk. In the meantime, can you get your hands on some pepper spray?"

"Are you kidding? I live in New York. I have about five cans stashed away." Betsy glanced at her watch, noting that her lunch break had been done for 20 minutes. "Not to be rude, but I have to go back to work."

"Of course. I'll let you know if I find anything."

Betsy sat for a moment before realizing that he had hung up. He didn't seem to be a huge fan of goodbyes. She pulled the phone down from her face and was stunned to see a text from Melvin's number.

 _I'm glad you like the dress. Can we please meet at the park at 7. I have to talk to you. Don't text back. Throwing this phone away._

 _M_

Matt tucked the burner phone into his jacket pocket.

"So, do I wanna know who that was?" Foggy hovered in the doorway of Matt's office, where he'd been standing since accidentally interrupting the conversation.

Matt drummed his fingers on the desk. "Melvin's girlfriend. We met last night…long story."

Foggy leaned against the doorframe. "Try me."

Matt stopped drumming his fingers. "Her name is Betsy. I knew about her existence but never actually met her…Melvin told me once about a girl named Betsy that Fisk had threatened to hurt if Melvin didn't do what he asked." Matt folded his hands on the desk. "I went to Betsy's apartment to ask if she knew where Melvin was. When I got there, Frank had Betsy in a chokehold."

Foggy crossed his arms. "Jesus Christ, that guy is insane."

Matt's expression turned dark. "He absolutely lost it on a woman half his weight. I've lost it before too, but never like that." He sat still for a moment before continuing. "I told her I was on her side in this and gave her my burner phone number in case Melvin contacted her."

"So did he?" Foggy asked.

Matt shook his head. "No, she called because Frank showed up at her place of employment. He copied Melvin's phone number from her phone, took his gun back and left."

"Wait, his gun?"

Matt grimaced. "He left a gun at Betsy's apartment. I told her to keep it with her for protection, I guess he wanted it back."

Foggy dropped in the chair across from Matt's desk. "Your life is very bizarre my friend."

Matt grinned slightly. "Yeah, well…I'm sorry I roped you into this."

Foggy shook his head. "Don't be sorry, I'm the one who guilted you into telling me all of this business with Melvin." He stood up abruptly. "Speaking of Melvin, I need to tell you what I found." He walked to his office and returned with a manila folder. "It's a photo from the crime scene. You don't want to know what I bribed Mahoney with." Foggy set the photo on Matt's desk. "Can you…you know… _see_ it?"

Matt shook his head and ran his fingers over it. "I'd only be able to sense it if it had raised edges, like a painting."

"Well then, I'll describe it for you. A grainy shot of an average sized man wearing a baseball cap and jacket walking away from the train explosion."

Matt grinned. "How interesting. The cops can't figure out who it is?"  
"Correct. It's driving them crazy. And I most definitely dodged all of Brett's questions about why I was so interested in this case." Foggy put the picture back in the manila folder.

"We really don't need Brett on our backs, why don't we leave him alone for now. And by we, I mean you." Matt nodded toward Foggy, smiling.

"Fine, but I can't make any promises," Foggy said loudly, walking back to his office.

Betsy couldn't hide her grin on the walk back to her office. She was so thrilled to see Melvin again that her previous troubles seemed to dissolve. Her mind was so preoccupied with thoughts of Melvin that she almost didn't see the police detectives until she was face-to-face with one of them in front of her office door.

"Betsy Beatty?" The taller one asked.

"Uh, yes?"

"Do you have a moment to talk?"

Betsy's heart immediately began hammering in her chest.

"Yes, of course. Come on in." Betsy opened her office door and guided the detectives to a couple of chairs in front of her desk. "How can I help you?"

The shorter detective spoke first. "My name is Rob Little, this is my partner John Yeager. We know that you have a pretty close relationship with Melvin Potter. Have you heard from him lately?"

"No, I haven't. Why, has something happened?" Betsy's voice sounded thin to her own ears.

"We believe he has something to do with the train explosion that happened a couple days ago. He was seen leaving the scene and no one's heard from him since."

Betsy made an effort to maintain eye contact and not stare at the mustard stain on his otherwise clean shirt. "That's ridiculous. Melvin is not capable of such violence."

The taller detective, John, blew air through his nose. "His criminal record says otherwise."

Betsy decided that she didn't like these two men. "That was in the past and Melvin's served his time. If you'll excuse me, I have patients who are waiting for me." She stood up abruptly.

John took out his wallet and placed a business card on the table. "There's my number, should you think of anything." He nodded to his partner and the two of them left without another word.

Betsy shut the door behind them and gritted her teeth. What had Melvin gotten himself into?


	4. The Start

Betsy sat on a bench in Hell's Kitchen Park. She broke up the last of her bagel and threw it to the pigeons. She was early for the meeting with Melvin, but couldn't stand another minute in her apartment. She pulled her coat closer around her body and pushed her hands under her arms.

Although Melvin didn't specify which park he wanted to meet in, Betsy figured her best bet was Hell's Kitchen Park. Melvin mentioned it on occasion during their sessions, it being one of the only places he felt safe at growing up.

The play equipment sat empty, a result of the cold weather and late hour. A group of boys entered the basketball court and started to play. She stared for a few minutes and noticed one of the boys leaning against the fence, watching her. She stared right back at him. He leisurely stood up and walked towards her.

"Are you Betsy?" He asked, standing an arms length away.

"Yes." She replied, eyebrows raised.

"I was told to deliver this to you for ten bucks." He pulled a note out of his jean pocket and handed it to her. A piece of lint fell out along with it and floated to the ground.

"Note? From who?"

"No idea. Huge bald guy. Said you'd give me ten bucks?" He held out his other hand, waiting for the cash.

"Oh, for Christ's sake," she seethed, digging in her purse. She pulled out a crumpled bill and slapped it in his hand. He handed her the note and saluted before walking away.

Betsy unfolded the note quickly and read the contents.

 _You are being watched. Catch up later. –M_

Betsy gritted her teeth and looked up to question the boy but saw that he was gone, along with all of his friends. She balled up the note, stood up and walked over to a dumpster to throw it in. She glared at the cars parked along the road, searching for the detectives. When she didn't immediately see them she pulled her phone out of her purse along with Detective Yeager's business card. He answered on the second ring.

"Detective Yeager."

Betsy cleared her throat and tried to push the anger out of her voice. "Hi. This is Betsy Beatty. Are you following me?" She figured it was best to get right to it.

"No ma'am." The man said on the other line in a monotonous voice.

"Oh…what about your partner?" Betsy walked out of the park and headed home after checking the parked cars again.

"No ma'am. Do you think you're being followed?"

"Oh. No. It's just…nothing. Sorry to have bothered you." Betsy hung up before he could reply and stuffed the phone in her purse. The hairs on the back of her neck stood up.

It was getting darker by the minute. Betsy pulled her keys out and clutched them in her hand. She was still about seven blocks away from her apartment building. She quickened her pace and squeezed the handles of her purse. There were a few people out and about, but Betsy's instinct was to make it home as fast as she could. She turned her head slightly, listening for footsteps behind her. She could've sworn she heard someone in heavy boots. She managed a peak and saw a man several feet away. His hands were in his pockets and he wore a basketball cap.

Betsy weighed the pros and cons of calling Daredevil again. What if he took the occasional night off and was relaxing with a glass of Merlot? Betsy doubted the man ever took a break. She pulled her phone out again and found the number in her contact list.

"Yes?" He answered on the first ring. His voice was gravelly and Betsy couldn't hear any background noise. Much different from their first phone call.  
"Hi. It's Betsy Beatty. Again. Um…are you busy?"

"What's wrong?" She had an image of him crouched on a rooftop somewhere.

"Look, it's probably nothing. Actually, I feel kind of silly now…"

"Betsy, what is it?"

"Well, I supposed to meet Melvin at the park tonight—"

"What park?"

"Uh—Hell's Kitchen Park?" He didn't immediately reply so she kept talking, the words bubbling out like a fountain. "He texted and asked me to meet him at the park. I figured it was Hell's Kitchen Park, because he always talked about Hell's Kitchen Park. Except that he didn't show. A kid gave me a note from Melvin that said I was being followed and that he'd meet me later. So now I'm feeling…paranoid."

The silence from the other end only lasted a few beats. "Where are you now?"

"Forty-fifth and ninth. Headed west."

"Good. Walk as fast as you can, I'm on my way." He hung up.

Betsy slowly put the phone away. She noted that the Devil of Hell's Kitchen was not one for small talk. She walked as fast as her legs would carry her, her new flats rubbing the back of her heels uncomfortably. It was dark now, and the few people that were out and about were mostly gone. Betsy saw a shop owner across the street locking his door. She debated walking over and asking if he'd walk with her. He seemed the type who would be more than happy to do so.

Just as she was about to cross the street, someone hooked an arm around her waist from behind and put a hand over her mouth. He pulled her into an alley, her heels dragging on the pavement. He smelled like cigarettes and cologne. She jabbed his leg with her keys, but he didn't seem to notice. He held her close and pushed her to her knees. He kneeled behind her.

"Now be a good girlie and don't scream." He took his hand off of her mouth. She screamed. He clamped his hand back over her mouth and cursed.

Betsy reached for the pepper spray in her purse. A lot of good it was doing her at the moment. He noticed this and pulled her back. He pulled a knife out of his pocket and pressed it to her neck. "I thought we could do this the easy way, but I do enjoy the hard way more," He dragged her further into the alley.

He made it about four steps before someone came up from behind and slammed his head into the brick wall. He immediately went limp and Betsy crawled away, trying to catch her breath. She felt a drop of blood snake down her neck. She wiped it away and slouched against the wall.

"I suppose late is better than ever," Her voice quivered and she squeezed her eyes shut. She did not want to see the creep who attacked her, even if he was unconscious.

"Betsy." A gruff voice whispered.

She knew that voice. She peered into the darkness and immediately sat up. "Melvin?"

He stood next to the unconscious man with a peculiar expression on his face. "I'm sorry," his voice shook and tears spilled out of his eyes.

Betsy immediately stood up and pulled him into a hug. He collapsed in her arms and they sunk to the ground. "You don't have anythg to be sorry for. You saved me, Melvin." He held her hard and she felt tears on her own face. She buried her face in his shoulder.

"I should've come earlier—but I thought he was a police officer—"

"It's OK, Melvin. I'm OK," she repeated. She felt safe for the first time in weeks.

The unconscious man began to stir. Melvin pushed Betsy away gently and pulled the man into a sitting position. Melvin's entire demeanor changed. He became cold and Betsy saw that he was shaking. She backed away a bit more. Melvin kneeled in front of the man.

The man moaned and opened his eyes. He saw Melvin and smirked. "So, you found—"

"Why did you attack Betsy?" Melvin slowly gathered the man's shirt in his fists.

"Who's Betsy?"

Melvin put his face close to the man's. "I'll give you another chance."

The man sniffed and tried to sit up. Melvin didn't let him. Betsy wondered if the man had a death wish.

He stared defiantly at Melvin. Melvin wrapped a hand around the man's throat and slammed him against the ground in one swift movement.

"Why did you attack Betsy?" Melvin asked again with gritted teeth.

The man was still silent. Melvin straddled him and began punching. Betsy crouched down, pressed her back against the wall and hugged her knees. The wet, crunchy sound was too much to bear. Melvin didn't stop hitting him, even when the man tried to speak.

Betsy saw movement out of the corner of her eye. She turned and saw Daredevil. He was observing the fight but walked to Betsy and kneeled.

"What happened?" He asked softly.

"You have to stop Melvin," Betsy pleaded with a trembling voice. "He's going to kill him."

As if that spurred the vigilante into action, Daredevil rushed to Melvin and seized his raised fist before he could land another punch on the man's bloody face. Melvin grunted but didn't resist too much. Daredevil pulled him off the man and pushed him away. Melvin was breathing hard.

The man on the ground rolled to his side. "Bont, it was Bont's idea," he said with a wet, rattling voice.

Melvin froze. Sweat poured off his face and blood trickled from his hands. "What did you say?"

The man went silent and motionless. This time it was Daredevil who grabbed the man's shirt and pushed him up against the wall.

"He asked you a question." His voice was quiet and steely.

The man took a few breaths. "He hates Potter. Hates him for quitting. Hates that he worked for Fisk. He wants Potter dead." He spit some blood out. "That's why the train was blown up. Was supposed to be dramatic and send a message. But Potter got off too soon." The man laughed. It made Betsy cringe.

Daredevil delivered a quick punch and the man was out again. He slumped to the ground. Daredevil backed up a few steps and looked to Melvin and Betsy. Melvin was still frozen in place, staring at the ground. Betsy was still sat against the wall, hugging her knees.

"Who the hell is Bont?" Daredevil asked.


	5. The Meeting

"Who the hell is Bont?" Daredevil asked.

Melvin hadn't moved so much as a muscle. Betsy cleared her throat.

"Can I tell him?" She asked.

Melvin nodded slightly. Daredevil turned to Betsy and tilted his head.

"Alexander Bont. He was basically Fisk's predecessor, except way small time. Melvin did some work for him. The type of work he did for Fisk."

"Then I met Betsy." Melvin's voice was quiet. "She changed everything. I quit. I thought that was the end of it." He looked at his bloody hands with a frown.

Betsy stood up and went to put a hand on his arm.

"I didn't blow up that train. I swear." He looked at Daredevil with pleading eyes.

Daredevil paused before he took a few steps forward. "Yes, I know Melvin. I believe you."

Betsy cleared her throat again. "What are we going to do with him?" She pointed to the unconscious heap on the ground.

"Depends. Do you want to press charges?" Daredevil asked.

"Hell yes," Betsy said in a hard voice that surprised even her.

"Then you'll have to call the police and tell them you were attacked. I'll stay to make sure he doesn't wake up. Melvin, you probably shouldn't be here when they come."

Melvin nodded but didn't move. Betsy went to retrieve her phone from her purse.

"I'll keep her safe, Melvin." Daredevil said softly.

Melvin looked at him for a while before he nodded. Then he turned to Betsy and pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket. "This is where I'm staying. You shouldn't go home tonight. You should come stay with me."

Betsy nodded and put the crumpled piece of paper in her purse. She was glad for the dark so he couldn't see her blush.

He moved to touch her face but stopped, looking at his bloody hands. He nodded at Daredevil and began to walk out of the alley.

"Wait, Melvin," Daredevil called.

Melvin stopped and turned around.

Daredevil pulled a business card out of his pocket. "These are good lawyers. They will help you. Tell them your story."

Melvin looked at the card. "Aren't these the guys that stopped Fisk?"

"Yes, they helped." He said. Betsy thought she saw a smirk.

"Thanks." Melvin nodded again and walked out of the alley.

Once he was out of sight, Betsy dialed 911 and told the operator that she was attacked but was saved by the Devil of Hell's Kitchen. She couldn't help but smile at this. She wondered how many times the operators at central dispatch had heard that story. She gave the operator her location and hung up.

She put the phone back in her purse and leaned against the wall. Daredevil stood a few feet away, quiet but alert.

"If you have…other people to save, I think I'm good here." Betsy said.

Daredevil laughed softly. "Yeah, no way am I leaving you here with this psychopath. Melvin would kill me."

"True. He would." Betsy couldn't help but laugh too. What an odd situation this was. She heard sirens in the distance. "What about Bont? What are we going to do?"

"I'll work on it. If Melvin goes to the lawyers, they'll help too."

"Sounds like you really trust these guys." Betsy eyed him curiously.

Daredevil didn't respond to that. The sirens were close now. Betsy could see the lights.

"Hey, thank you. For everything." She said.

Daredevil nodded and backed into the shadows just as the police pulled up.

The police were shocked at the state of the man who attacked Betsy. One of the officers commented, as the man was pushed away on a stretcher, that he was beaten to a goddamned bloody pulp. Betsy nodded curtly at these comments and crossed her arms.

After giving her statement and contact information, one of the uniformed officers drove her to the address that she gave him. It wasn't Melvin's exact address but close enough to it that she could walk. The officer tried to get her to talk about Daredevil during the ride but she kept her mouth firmly shut and just said that he was in the right place at the right time.

The police officer dropped her off and offered to walk with her. Betsy turned him down graciously. She watched the police cruiser until it was well out of sight before she proceeded.

She saw him sitting on the stoop as she rounded the corner. He was staring at the sidewalk with his hands stuffed in his pockets.  
"Hey," she said softly as she approached.

Melvin looked up and tried to smile as best he could. "Thanks for coming."

"Of course, I don't want to be alone." Betsy tucked a piece of hair behind her ear and looked at her shoes.

Melvin stood up on the step and offered her his hand. "I have to warn you, it's kind of a shit hole."

Betsy laughed and took his hand. "I'm sure it's lovely."

Instead of going up the stairs, as Betsy expected, Melvin lead her down the stairs and to the side of the building. He stopped in front of a nondescript metal door and pried it open with a crowbar that was hidden behind a trashcan. He pulled the door shut behind them and led her in the darkness.

They took a few steps before Melvin grabbed a lighter off of a table and lit a candle. "No electricity," he mumbled. He looked apologetic as he lit more candles scattered around the room.

Betsy set her purse down on a table and rubbed her arms. "How did you find this place?"

"Old friend told me about it. Said they were remodeling the building but ran out of money." Melvin shrugged and lit a kerosene heater. "It warms up pretty fast in here with this thing." He tapped the heater with his boot.

Betsy nodded and looked around. They appeared to be in a long-forgotten maintenance room. "I don't suppose there's a shower?"

Melvin smiled, grabbed a candle and motioned for her to follow him. He led her up a flight of stairs and down a hall. "Right here." He motioned toward an open door.

Betsy peeked in. It was a bathroom, all right. It just looked like it hadn't been cleaned since the Prohibition era. Grime covered every square inch of the shower and toilet.

"There's soap, too." Melvin crossed the threshold and pointed at a small, pitiful bar of soap.

Betsy nodded and smiled. Melvin was so excited about the bathroom that she didn't want to hurt his feelings.

Betsy's curly hair was so tangled the next morning that she couldn't even run a finger through it. She cursed herself for washing it with a bar of soap the night before in what was quite possibly the worst shower of her life. Then she cursed the kerosene heater for smelling so bad. Then she cursed Melvin for leaving her alone in the basement of a creepy, semi-condemned building. She assumed he went to scrounge up some breakfast.

The night before had passed uneventfully. Betsy had taken a cold shower and promptly went to sleep on top of the mountain of blankets that Melvin had laid out on the floor. She was so exhausted she was barely able to thank him before falling asleep.

Betsy stood up stiffly from the makeshift bed near the heater and put on her clothes from the day before. It was all she had at the moment so it would have to do. She folded the t-shirt and sweatpants Melvin had given her to sleep in and set them on the table. Just as she was putting on her flats, Melvin came in with a paper bag.

"Got some protein bars." He set the bag on the table.

"Delicious," Betsy said before she ripped one open and took a bite. She noticed him staring at her head. "Yes?"

"I can braid that." He said matter-of-factly.

"Oh god, is it that bad?" She made a feeble attempt at flattening it with her hand. "Actually, don't answer that."

Melvin pulled a chair over and pointed to it. Betsy got a rubber band out of her purse and handed it to Melvin before she sat down. He worked with gentle fingers and Betsy was a little disappointed when he finished.

"Well, I don't have a mirror, but it feels decent enough."

"Practiced on my sister a lot," he said with a sad smile. "Does your phone have enough battery to call the lawyers?" He set the business card on the table.

Betsy nodded and dialed the number. A woman named Karen answered on the first ring. Betsy explained who she was and said that Melvin Potter wanted Nelson and Murdock to represent him. Karen said to stop by any time during the day.

Melvin was already busy putting things away and tidying up before Betsy hung up the phone.

"That was easy enough," Betsy said. "Can we stop by my apartment before we go?"

Melvin looked at her. "For what?"

"Melvin, I can't go meet a couple of lawyers looking like…this." She made a sweeping motion towards herself.

Melvin raised a brow. "Betsy, you look beautiful."

Betsy pressed her lips into a thin line. She could already tell this wouldn't be an argument she'd win. She threw her hands up and slung her purse on her arm. "Where is this place, then?"

The walk to the law office passed uneventfully. Melvin wore a baseball cap and kept his head down. Betsy had momentarily forgotten that Melvin was on the run. He told Betsy if they held hands during the walk, people wouldn't even look at them twice. Betsy didn't argue.

Once they got to the office, a tall blonde woman showed them in and introduced herself as Karen. The office was quaint but cozy. Not at all what Betsy had imagined.

"Not what you were picturing, is it?" A man said from the doorway of what Betsy assumed was his office. "I'm Foggy Nelson. My associate will join us shortly. Why don't we go into the meeting room?" He motioned to a room next to his office.

They walked into the room and sat down.

"Thank you so much for seeing us on such short notice." Betsy said.

Foggy sat in a chair from across the table and nodded. "I guess we just have a hard time staying away from high-profile cases."

"Would anyone like some coffee?" Karen asked from the doorway.

"Oh my god, yes, please." Betsy said.

Karen nodded and walked out.

"Make that two, please!" Foggy yelled after her.

"Foggy, you really need to lay off of the caffeine." Said a new voice from the doorway.

Betsy looked up and saw Foggy's associate enter the room with his arms raised, feeling for a chair. His eyes were hidden behind a pair of dark, circular glasses. He found the chair next to Foggy and sat down.

"Matt, just let me have one thing." Foggy moaned.

Matt held his hand out in the general direction of Melvin and Betsy. "Matt Murdock. The Murdock park of Nelson and Murdock."

Melvin shook his hand. "I'm Melvin Potter. This is Betsy Beatty."

"Very nice to meet you, Mr. Murdock." Said Betsy.

"Please, just call me Matt." He smiled and folded his hands on the table.

Betsy couldn't help but smile back. He was quite charming. "So, does the Devil of Hell's Kitchen have you both on retainer?"

Matt raised his brows. "Well, we don't—"

Foggy cleared his throat. "No, he just—"

"—asks us for helps sometimes." Matt finished and adjusted his tie.

"Exactly." Foggy nodded.

Karen came in with two cups of coffee and set them down in front of Foggy and Betsy. Foggy picked it up carefully and studied the mug.

Matt cleared his throat. "Well, should we start?" He asked Foggy.

"Absolutely." Foggy pulled out a pad of paper. "Mr. Potter, the floor is yours."

Melvin nodded and rubbed his head. He blew out a long breath before starting. "I used to work for a man named Alexander Bont. He dealt with drugs, mostly. Some weapons."  
"What did you do, exactly?" Foggy asked.

Melvin fidgeted. "Bodyguard."  
"Anything else?" Matt pressed.

Melvin sniffed. "I made his…body armor."

Foggy looked positively blank.

"It's a…hobby of mine. I use a certain type of material to make suits that deflect knives and other things. I quit working for Bont when I met Betsy, but Fisk found out what I did for Bont and told me he'd hurt Betsy if I didn't do it for him too. Then Daredevil found out about what I do and asked me to design him something. Said he'd keep Betsy safe."

Karen sat up. "Wait, you work with Daredevil?"

"He pops in sometimes."

"You designed his…ensemble?"

Melvin nodded casually.

Foggy crossed something out in his notes. "As that doesn't pertain to this case, I think we should leave that particular detail out."

Melvin shrugged.

Karen couldn't keep the grin off her face. "It's…interesting, though."

"So, explain the train explosion to us." Matt said pointedly, changing the subject.

"Asshole who attacked Betsy last night said Bont wants me dead. Doesn't like that I quit and doesn't like that I worked for Fisk. My guess is they planted a bomb. It was late so there weren't many people around. Easy to get by unnoticed."

Foggy raised his hands. "Wait, who attacked Betsy?"

"One of Bont's guys. They wanted to send me a message." Melvin crossed his arms. A dark look passed over his face.

"He didn't hurt me. Melvin was there. And…Daredevil." Betsy added sheepishly.

"Daredevil saved you too?" Karen smiled.

Betsy looked at her in surprise. "He saved you?"

"A while back. I was in some trouble. He has a knack for showing up at the right time, doesn't he?"

"You got that right," Betsy laughed.

"This man who attacked you, he's in custody now, correct?" Matt asked, in an attempt to steer the conversation back on topic.

"Yes," Betsy said.

"Good. We'll go to the police, tell them about Bont. Tell them the man who attacked you works for Bont."

Melvin sat up. "Police?" He shot an alarmed glance at Betsy.

Foggy put his palms up. "They just want to talk to you, see what you know. Once we give them Bont's name and Betsy explains her story, they'll let you walk right out."

"It will be fine, Melvin, I promise." Betsy said, looking at Foggy for reassurance.

He nodded enthusiastically. "There is not a warrant out for your arrest. Of that, I am sure."

Matt lifted his head and nodded. "If your afternoon is free, we could go and get this done today."

Melvin grunted and pushed his chair back.

"That's a yes," Betsy said.


End file.
